


...If You Can

by Svetlaena



Series: Svet's Novelization One-Shots [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Religious Conflict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7013317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svetlaena/pseuds/Svetlaena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not just the Nerevarine that suffers the consequences of the Temple's persecution, but some targets of their warped justice are cleverer than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...If You Can

“Nels Llendo?”

The addressed raised his head to behold two armored and heavily-armed Ordinators towering over him. The rest of the tavern was frozen in place. Pelagiad was just a small Imperial town, after all, the Tribunal Temple’s brute squad was rarely ever seen here.

The Dunmer made sure to finish off his flin before bothering to answer. He regarded them with a knowing smirk, “What took you people so long?”

Deadpanning from behind her mask, one of the Ordinators replied, “Under the authority of the Temple and Grandmaster Berel Sala, you are summoned for questioning at the Ministry of Truth. You may accompany us willingly, or by force.”

“So many nice options, how ever shall I choose just one?”

Their hands were on the hilts of their weapons now, obviously in no mood for banter. Nels brought his palms into view in surrender and moved slowly out of his seat. The tavern was too crowded for clean escape. For all he knew, his kinsmen would side with the Ordinators and box him in, whether out of loyalty or cowardice.

They got him outside and gave him a hasty search, and it made him raise a brow when they discarded the moon sugar and obviously stolen jewelry in his pack without a word. But what was stranger to him was how it never occurred to them to make him take off his boots. Perhaps it was because the sun had already set, and they were eager to return to Vivec City and get out of the chilly night air... either way it didn’t matter to him. His natural luck had once again been proven.

With one Ordinator carrying the lantern, and the other holding the cord to his wrist-bindings, they set off southward. At first he was made to walk between them, which made it difficult to make the slightest move without being seen. The challenge was only made worse by their Indoril masked helmets. How strange, he briefly thought, that they should wear the likeness of Nerevar. Yet, it gave him an idea.

“So...” Nels spoke up, “how much Temple donation money is going to fund Vivec’s crusade against a lone woman?”

They spared glances to each other, but no words. Silence remained, so he tried another. “How many people actually come out of this place we’re going? Because I hear it’s not many.”

Finally, he heard a sigh. Getting there... he knew what might finalize it. “Isn’t there a Blight going on for you people to be worried about?”

The woman spun on her heel, her fist connecting with his stomach so fast he didn’t have a second to brace properly. Nels dropped, all the wind and sense knocked right out of him. And although he felt about to retch, there was a smile on his face.

It only took him a second to get what he needed out of the boot, the gesture swift and unseen, but he played out the dramatics as long as he could to buy recovery time. The wench hit nearly as hard as Adarise. Bonemold armor wasn’t light stuff, either. Soon their patience had run dry and one of them seized him by the shoulder to pull him up from the ground.

_Now or never._

The Dunmer took the throwing-knife to the ropes and freed himself, but he was no fool. He could not take on two armed Ordinators—well, at least not without his good daggers. Even the great Nels Llendo had his limits. So he ran, not daring to stop, knowing the weight of their armor would eventually lose out to his will to freedom.

Soon he was crouching in the shadows behind the stalk of a parasol mushroom, listening to the Ordinators argue and shake the swamp muck off of their already-heavy boots. If they really wanted to catch him, he thought with amusement, they were going to have to try harder than that... and knowing them, they very well might.


End file.
